John
by Asagi Tsuki
Summary: John is upset because of what Sherlock said and did, and Sherlock takes it upon himself to set things straight (slash if you squint)


**John**

By: Asagi Tsuki

Pairing: hint of Sherlock/John

Summary: John is upset because of what Sherlock said and did, and Sherlock takes it upon himself to set things straight

Warning: OOCness, partial AU

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes is the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the BBC version, of course, doesn't belong to me as well

A/N: I haven't properly watched A Scandal in Belgravia since I only watched the first season, but I watched the beginning and bits of it as my sisters were watching it, and saw clips and, yes, I guess you could say this is a partial AU because there will be discrepancies with the original storyline

Anyway, onto the story. By the way, this is my 100th fic on ff net =D - ish happy

**John**

John knew it was incredible childish of him, and that being childish was more of Sherlock's forte, not his, but at that moment, he really couldn't quite care.

John also knew that Sherlock probably hadn't meant it in the way he thought it to mean, but it had hurt nevertheless.

"_Why would I need you?"_

He had taken great care not to let the fact that he was troubled over such simple matter show, but he had a suspicion that Sherlock knew anyway. Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything about it, though, so until one of them brought the matter up, he could just simply live in denial.

That sounded like a line from a cheap romance movie. John frowned at that.

The second blow to his hurt ego came when Mrs. Hudson and him caught Sherlock standing by the window, playing a slow, sweet tune. She had complimented it, saying it was a wonderful tune, and Sherlock told her that he was composing.

John knew that Sherlock played his violin a lot. He probably had a piece to suit every situation and every emotion he felt, no matter how rare that occasion was. Knowing that Sherlock was actually composing a tune because he couldn't find a piece that correctly portrayed his current feelings hurt John.

Hurt him because that meant Sherlock had somewhat become emotionally attached to The Woman in the short time they had known each other, more than Sherlock was attached to him, in the long time they had been rooming together.

"You are upset," Sherlock noted and John inwardly groaned.

He didn't want to do this now. He wasn't prepared for scrutiny or for baring his own soul in front of this pseudo-machine, because it would only make it worse. Sherlock would tell him he was being stupid, that he never cared for anyone because it wasn't an advantage, that he didn't have attachments to anyone, and so on and so forth.

John didn't think he'd ever be ready for it, but he really didn't want to discuss it then.

"Not now, Sherlock," John finally said in a strained voice. "I've had a bad day, and I'm not up to this."

Sherlock studied him for a moment longer before he looked away and nodded almost imperceptibly. John sighed and walked to his bedroom, determined to sleep the rest of the day away.

The next morning he woke up to a slow, sweet tune that was slightly different from the one Sherlock composed for The Woman. It was calming and soothing. He made his way to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, and the music had moved on to a more cheerful section. It made John think of bright sunny days, and the excitement of going through a chase together with Sherlock.

The music had moved on to another slow section when John sat in his chair with a cup of tea, and with the limited music knowledge that he had begun gathering since he started rooming with Sherlock, John decided that it was a concerto, then, with three movements. The last movement was sorrowful, and it made him wonder if his harsh dismissal last night had upset Sherlock somewhat.

John sipped his tea while wondering why the music seemed familiar; it seemed like he had heard bits and pieces of the music before, but this was the first time he heard it from the beginning to the end.

Sherlock finished playing the piece and lowered his violin, resting it on his lap. "You're wrong, you know."

John stared at him but Sherlock didn't say anything else, leaving John to wonder which part of his assumption was wrong, or if Sherlock had meant that all of them was wrong. He knew, of course, that Sherlock had referred to the assumptions he made of what Sherlock would do and say last night, but his deductions skills weren't honed enough to pinpoint which one Sherlock meant.

That, and their brain waves weren't attuned to each other's enough.

"That was beautiful," John praised when Sherlock made it clear that he wasn't saying or doing anything else until John had made his move. He wasn't sure when their life had suddenly become a chess match.

Sherlock nodded, then said nothing. John frowned. Apparently he had only moved his pawn and Sherlock had only moved his own pawn in retaliation. John took a deep breath, preparing himself to take a risk. Maybe it was time to move his queen, and hope that it hadn't left an opening for Sherlock to checkmate him.

"What is it called?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to regard him, then his lips twitched into a barely there smile. "John."

"Yes?" John asked, wondering if he had said anything wrong.

"It is called 'John'."

Check.

"Why John?" John asked, trying to move his king away from danger.

"You were upset," Sherlock said. "You thought I care for you as much as I care for Anderson."

"Well, not to that extreme—"

"I don't _care_, John. I've told you this time and again," Sherlock said, resting his violin on the couch beside him. "And yet you believe in your head that I care for Adler; more than I care for you."

This was it. The conversation he had been trying desperately to postpone was finally there.

"Is that not the case?" John challenged. "You told me you don't need me."

"John, if you ever feel like taking any of my words to heart, why not choose something I didn't say when I was drugged and frustrated?"

John flushed guiltily. Another check from Sherlock. He really had to be careful, but at the back of his mind, he somehow knew that this wasn't a game he was going to win.

"And now you know," Sherlock interrupted before John could say anything, and John was about to accuse him of cheating and making a double move but managed to restrain himself in time, "I composed a short tune for her. I wrote a whole concerto for you."

Check and mate.

Sherlock stood up and walked off to the kitchen. John stared at his retreating back before he began laughing; joyous, unrestrained laughter. The neighbours probably thought him crazy, but at that moment he was too happy to care.

Sherlock was a genius, but he was inept at social interactions. He was brilliant, yet he had a habit of making simple things complex. He could never just say what was on his mind like normal people did, always scheming to get his point across without him having to bare his feelings out in the open and risk being hurt. He was infuriating, but he also sparked an exasperated fondness in John.

Honestly, he didn't want Sherlock any other way. It was what made Sherlock _Sherlock_.

And _Sherlock_ was perfect.

**End Story**

Hope you enjoyed that :D if you do, do leave a comment coz I'm a comment whore :P

It's a short ficlet to fill my time. Got the idea while watching the clip in which Sherlock stood facing the window composing a slow tune (that and I've been listening to too much sweet, mellow music lately. Listening to Sheltering Sky, Arrival of the Birds, and Sovereign as I'm writing this).

I used to play the piano but never played a concerto, only sonatas. Their movements aren't smooth transitions a lot of the time, like one movement could be cheerful, the next mellow, and such, so the idea that the violin concerto that Sherlock wrote had three differing movements in terms of feel isn't strange, really. The first movement implies that John has a calming, soothing effect. The second movement speaks of their chases all over London. The last movement is for whenever Sherlock did something to upset John.

This was supposed to be a drabble D: of less than five hundred words. I'm not sure how I managed to blow this up into twice the original length I wanted.

Oh, and the part about the conversation-cum-chess match thing was inspired by Endgame by Saucery, in which Jim and Spock have a chess match, on and off the board.


End file.
